Sing For Absolution
by Second-Hand Heart
Summary: Lips are turning blue... A kiss that can't renew... I only dream of you... My beautiful... Songfic to Muse's 'Sing For Absolution' (Language and Content Warning. The actions this fic is based around may disturb and or upset some readers.)
1. Visits In The Night

**Sing For Absolution   
**By Second-Hand Heart

**Lips are turning blue   
****A kiss that can't renew   
****I only dream of you   
****My beautiful**

I quietly open the door to the seventh-year boy's dormitory. All is quiet inside except for the occasional grunt or rustle of sheets in movement as one of the occupants of the beds changes position as they sleep on.

It's past midnight. I should be curled securely in my bed own bed down in the sixth-year girls dorm. But this has become my ritual, my cleansing: kiss him goodnight and tell him I love him when he's asleep and unconscious of my presence at his bedside. I wish I could tell him when he can see me, when he can hear me and feel me and see how hard it is for me to admit it.

Coward. That's what I am. A coward.

Gods, I hate myself.

I close the door behind me and silently make my way over to where I know his bed is. The curtains are closed around him; they always are. And no one knows that it's because he cries himself to sleep at night. Except I know. But he doesn't know I know. And I know he doesn't know I know. I'm very discreet about my midnight visits at his bedside. If anyone found out I'd die.

I kneel beside his bed and take one of his hands into both my own. His hands are soft and strong, large and tender. Much like his heart.

He's an odd mix of a boy. And I love him. I can only admit that in my thoughts. I know it's true because it hurts so bad to see him with Hermione. I think I'm going to die every time I see him put his arm around her and watch as she kisses his cheek. God, it hurts so bad.

Unconsciously (I hope) his hand tightens around my own. I look down at them and study the long delicate fingers in fine detail, like I have every other time I've been here. I gently stroke his knuckles with the pad of my thumb, relishing the feel of his touch, however inadvertent.

He shifts slightly, distracting me from his beautiful hands. I look into his closed eyes. He has gorgeous eyelashes, enviable. But his eyelids keep twitching and I know he's having a nightmare... another one. I wish there was some way to stop them. The Dreamless Sleep Potion doesn't work anymore, they make everything worse, but he won't admit that.

His eye are jerking around behind their blinds like he's looking for something or someone and I decide it's time to go. If he wakes up to find me clutching to his hand there'll be questions asked. Questions I don't want to answer.

I lean up and brush his scraggly black fringe aside, revealing the lightning-bolt scar scratched white onto his forehead.

I hate that thing. It's caused him so much grief and pain. I can barely stand to look at it knowing the horrors that he's been through because of that damned mark. Everyone places so much responsibility on him because of some cruel twist of fate. I hate it. He deserves so much more than everyone gives him. So much more love than what Hermione shows him and holds for him, so much more respect than what Ron gives him (what type of best friend gets so jealous of a friend who bears the weight of the world on his shoulders every day of his life?) and he deserves so much more recognition than what I allow him to see.

I hate this so much.

I let my finger trace the marked skin, barely touching it. But I pull it away. I have no right to touch him when he doesn't know... I have no right to touch him at all. That sacred privilege is saved for Hermione and Ron – the Girlfriend and the Best Friend.

At that thought my jealousy and resentment flares into a burning rage.

Hermione. That ignorant, self-centered chit. She doesn't love him – not really. Her heart belongs to her books and my brother. Harry's only third to her, he always has been. She told me so three years ago. And she told me the other day...

"_I try Ginny, really I do! But... I don't know. I guess I don't really love him, not really. I never know what he's thinking so I don't know what mood he's in-"_

"_And that's why you fool around with Ron!?!! Is it!? You don't know how to please one boy so you move onto the next!?!!"_

"_Ginny! It's not like that!"_

"_Oh, isn't it?!" I stormed out._

I'm not sorry. Not anymore. At first I was scared she'd tell Harry, or Ron, or both, about what I had said. But that would just incriminate her. Hermione's not so stupid that she'd back herself into a corner. So I'm not worried anymore.

As for Ron. My brother, best friend to the Boy-Who-Lived. Ha! Some best friend! Running off at all hours of the day to snog Hermione and then coming back to sit at Harry's elbow like he hadn't just been stabbing him in the back. I hate him so.

I can remember the first time I caught them together. I was wondering around on the sixth floor after-hours to stew around in my thoughts. I was walking along one of Peeves' favorite corridors to terrorize. They were behind one of the gargoyles, on each other like rabbits. They looked so debauched. It was sickening. Ron attempted to tell me off for being out past curfew. The overall affect would have been quite impressive had he not been flushed and panting. I told him so and continued on my way without sparing them a second glance. The urge to curse them both six ways from Sunday was overpowering, but I suppressed it, shoving it firmly into the back of my head and not even sparing the _memory_ a second thought. I was so angry at them both. I even thought about telling Harry.

But Hermione came to me the next day and pleaded with me until I promised not to speak of the incident. Of course, by that time I had had sufficient enough time to think it over and decide against it, not from any actual like for either Hermione or Ron, but from my love for Harry. I didn't want to be the one to hurt him. I would leave that to his "friends".

But that wasn't the last time I would catch them in a compromising position together. I run into them all over the castle on my late-night walks around the corridors. I spare them no idle banter and walk straight past them as if they are not there.

And I've never told.

I lean my own forehead against Harry's and close my eyes for a few moments. I press my lips gently over his and pull back.

"I love you Harry." I whisper before rising to my feet and walking silently to the door. I glance once at his sleeping form before parting the curtains and walking to the door. I open it silently and walk out, closing it with a spell cast over my shoulder as I descend the stairs down to my own dormitory and the nightmares that await me.


	2. Guardian Angels

**Tiptoe to your room**

**A starlight in the gloom**

**I only dream of you**

**And you never knew...**

Harry watched the common room with distaste. He watched the lower grades desperately scrambling around, copying homework from each other at the last minute because they were too lazy to do it on Friday night.

_There will be no slacking off when you're a seventh year_ he thought bitterly as he watched a group of firsts copy assignments from each other.

He sneered and turned back to his book.

'_Oh, how like Malfoy you've become, Potter.' _read the words on the page. _'Bitter and hating. When was the last time you actually smiled? Can't remember? Not surprising. What's wrong with you? Don't know? Neither do I anymore...'_

He stared at the book, shook his head and looked at the words again.

'The spirit of the BIRCH tree is called "The One with the White Hand". If the hand touches a head it leaves a vivid white mark and inflicts madness, but if it touches a heart it is the touch of death.'

He snapped the book shut and glared at the back cover. He sighed and opened it again to continue reading.

Three hours later and the common room was empty... almost. Harry watched the last student stagger to the staircase and pound his way up the bricks, secretly wanting to run after him and curse him for his flat- and heavy-footed ascension. He let out a relieved sigh and began rubbing his temple as he heard the heavy wooden door slam shut.

The younger grades were so graceless, so clumsy in their movements. It was a wonder they didn't trip over their own feet with every second step.

He waited another hour, giving everyone time to fall asleep. He read and reread the last chapter of his book, soaking up the information like a sponge to water. It was odd how he'd turned into another Hermione, albeit a male one (Thank God he added in his head).

He got up and stretched, wincing slightly as several vertebrae cracked and ground together in protest. He flexed his arms above his head, behind his back, in front of him and let them fall to his sides.

He walked his way over to the girl's dorms staircase, counting the bricks and placing his hand on the twelfth up from the floor.

Gryffindor Tower was full of little (and big) secrets, and the way a member of the male gender could access the girls dorms was one of them.

He pushed the brick into the wall, receiving a satisfying grind as the stone ground away from the others.

This was strictly for emergencies, used for the male teachers to access the dorms in serious situations... but accidents made the secret known to Harry, as a lot of things did these days.

He bolted up the staircase, making it to the sixth landing before the block could slide back into its place and replace the protection wards to stop any of the boys from getting into the girls dorms. It was bloody unfair in his opinion, but wholly appropriate for the younger grades that only really had one thing on their minds, perverted freaks.

He opened the door quietly and stepped through.

The girl's dorms were somewhat different from the boys. Neater, for one, but a lot more... a lot prettier.

The beds were elaborately carved, as was the rest of the furniture, one item of which was a full size cupboard, something none of the boys had. The carpet was... well, it was there for one. The boys just had cold stone with a few foot mats at the sides of the beds. Even in summer you had to wear slippers to stop getting chills. It was thick and lush, crimson with flecks of gold woven into it. The windows had stained-glass panes in them, depicting various scenes with maidens and fountains and roses. Beside each bed was a small dressing table you could sit at with various amounts of 'necessaries' scattered over the surfaces and a large mirror leant against the wall.

All the beds had their occupants safely nestled inside the warm sheets, buried deep within the depths of the quilts, sleeping soundly.

He slowly made his way over to Ginny's bed, being careful not to trip on any of the trunk, cats, owls or furniture that might have decided to walk about in the night (the girls were often cruel to each other and enchanted each others belongings and furniture as a practical joke. Harry frankly couldn't see the humor behind it).

Once at the young redheads bedside he stood watching her for some time. It was an odd thing to do, he knew that, and he was always careful not to disturb the other girls, far from ready to answer any questions if one of them should wake up. But he did it nonetheless.

At first it was because he woke up one morning with one of her hair ribbons clutched firmly in his hand. Though completely confused as to where it came from, he had wanted to return it to her during that day, but instead ended up with it wrapped around his wrist until midnight, when he finally remembered to return it to her.

That was when he found the Ward-Breaker. He had tripped on a book one of the first years had left on the ground and went hurtling into the wall. He stuck his hand out catch himself and it landed on the brick and it slid inwards. That's when he felt the air shift as the magic was removed. He ended up pushing the brick several times as a precaution before heading up to her dorm.

That was when he realized how truly beautiful she was. He had always thought her pretty; there was no doubt about that. But seeing her asleep and at peace was something to behold.

She had the bed beneath the largest window. He came to see her every full moon, to mark the anniversary of the first time he visited her. The moonlight would spill through the multicolored glass above her and bathe her in its shades, and she always seemed to sleep in such a way that the rose in the window was painted on her cheek and across her hair. Blood red on snow-white skin.

She was beautiful.

He knelt beside her and touched her hand. It was soft and warm beneath his own. He let their fingers intertwine.

He often woke up feeling like she had been sitting beside his bed some nights, doing this exact same thing with his hands. He would always smile lazily without opening his eyes and reach out to find her hand again, but it was never there... but the memory was, and he clung to that every morning, and the dream he would have of a simple kiss in the middle of the night as she would watch him sleep.

If he woke too early in the morning, he would fall asleep again, the nightmares gone, and he would dream of her kiss.

She was his guardian angel.

A/N: The exert for Harry's book was from 'Faeries' by Brian Froud and Alan Lee


	3. Self Destruct

**Sing for absolution  
I will be singing  
Falling from your grace**

Divination has always been dull. I don't know why I even bothered doing it. I guess it was because I knew it was a bludge class.

I don't usually pay attention to anything we're told or what we're supposed to be doing (even though I'm top of the class, for some strange reason). It's not like it actually matters. No one in the whole class is even remotely capable of 'Seeing'. Not surprising though, they're all indolent little shits. I'm the only one who does my homework out of the whole class. And when we have assignments set, mine does the rounds of Gryffindor Tower and by the end of the night everyone has a copy of it, albeit with a few variations.

And so now I'm sitting in the stuffy little room at the top of the North Tower, almost falling asleep where I sit in the back of the class, by myself.

No one's actually doing anything. We've been studying the meanings of dreams for about a week now and as part of it we're supposed to keep a Dream Diary. We were told to keep the descriptions short and brief but somehow managing not to lack anything. So far I have three rather thick diaries sitting on the table in front of me.

See, I have a _lot_ of dreams and to fully understand what I've written I need to add every single little detail, or I'll forget it and the dream will become nothing to me.

Trelawney walks around every lesson checking our diaries, interpreting them for us, telling us every time that tomorrow we'll drop dead on the spot in the middle of the day sometime.

No one has yet.

Right now she's just starting her doom predictions at the first table, everyone staring disdainfully or half-heartedly at her and listening as she predicted the first in her long list of Fateful deaths.

Absently, I started picking at the long scabs running across my forearm. The half healed skin came away easily and painfully. I watched as the blood started to pool in the gash I had just reopened, overflow and run down side of my arm, creating a deep red puddle on the dark mahogany tabletop.

I remember the first time I cut myself. Ron had been yelling at me about taking a book from his room, of all things. His yelling kept getting louder and more frantic the longer he went on about it. By the time Dad had made him stop I was in tears. And I still don't know why I cut. But I did and from then on it became my addiction, an unbreakable habit that tore me apart. I did it when my emotions would become so strong that I couldn't handle them and I'd release them the only way I knew how. Then I started doing it because I _couldn't_ feel. I had gotten so used to releasing my feelings through the blade that they disappeared altogether, and then I begged the knife to give them back to me. But all it gave me was hate, scorn, cynicism, every one of the worst emotions possessed by human beings.

But what I find really strange is the fact that the blade never took away all my love. It left me just enough to go on loving Harry, just enough to not attempt my own destruction again.

Yes, who would have thought it? Ginny Weasley, such a beautiful, bright youth, without a care in the world, tried to kill herself over the summer.

Truth was I did have _many_ cares in this world. Like the offer to join the Dark Lord I received at breakfast during the summer, before my attempt. Like the conversation I had with Draco Malfoy about joining the Dark Side yesterday. Like my loosening grip on reality. Like the insanity that waited for me around every corner. Like the fact that my only grounding in life was moving out of my reach, even though I go and see him almost every night.

Trelawney's voice is close now. I quickly heal my wounds as she steps over for my diary.

"My dear?" she asks all airy-fairy and 'mystical'.

I handed her my latest diary and she flipped through it, staring with distaste at the long paragraphs of unemotional scrawl depicting my latest dream. She's didn't even bother reading it.

"My dear, I asked you to keep your diary entries short as to further make more productive use of the classes."

"I'm sorry" I say flatly, matching her stare with an impassive face. "I don't work that way."

She eyed me distastefully before setting down my book and floating back to the front of the class.

"Miss Weasley, would you like to read your latest dream to the class. We'll see what everyone else makes of it shall we?"

I stood up. "My dreams are none of the classes concern. If you wish to know what thoughts run through my head you would do well to learn Occlumency, I'm sure Professor Snape would be more than happy to teach you."

Trelawney's face paled at Snape's name. It was no secret that they both detested each other, but Trelawney was absolutely _terrified _of him.

The class just sat there in their seats and gaped up at me.

A bell sounded behind me, signalling the end of class. I picked my books up and went to the trapdoor. I kicked it open and descended the ladder without so much as a backwards glance at the silent classroom.

On the lower level of the tower a class was already assembled. Amongst them two smiling faces I _did not_ want to see right now.

Harry was standing next to an open widow with his eyes closed. Ron was at his side, laughing maniacally at something, his eyes screwed tight and gasping for breath. He was attracting stares from everyone gathered around him, some people muttering behind their books, others snickering along with him.

He managed to settle down slightly, though still chuckling, and open his eyes. He caught sight of me and gestured me over.

As I walked over to the pair I heard other footsteps coming down the ladder. If I wanted to get out of here without an interrogation about my dreams I had better make this pretty goddamned fast.

Ron took hold of me and draped his arm over my shoulder. I immediately pushed it off me and took a step away from him. Ever since I had caught him and Hermione I had not allowed him once to touch me. At first he was angry, yelling at me at the top of his voice about being rude and telling me that I could at least try to keep up appearances and act as though nothing had happened. I told him to 'Shove it' (in my head, the 'it' meant several things, ranging from his wand to his head, and implying quite clearly what orifice he was supposed to place the numerous objects.)

Ever since, we had both refrained from talking to each other unless in public or in case of dire emergencies. Right now I'm guessing this occasion was for the former.

"Hello Harry." I said quietly before turning back to look at my older brother. "What's up?" I reverted back to the more popular, less eloquent and graceful way of speaking in public. It drove me mad to have to speak like that so I had made it clear to Ron that I did _not_ want to speak to him unless necessary.

"Guess what?" he gasped.

I raised an eyebrow at him but said, nonetheless, "What?"

"We just walked past Malfoy in the hall and he and Parkinson were having a fight. Apparently, she was breaking up with him! And guess what?"

I sighed. "What, Ron?"

"It's because she's gay!" He broke down laughing at this. And now I realized why others were smirking and snickering too. They weren't laughing _with _Ron, per se. They were laughing _at _him.

It was my time to be hurtful. "Ron, you idiot, everyone knows Pansy's a lesbian. It was so obvious. She's gone out with half you're grade and the most of mine!"

Ron straightened and let the information sink through. He had an odd expression on his face as all the information I had just fed him was processed in what was proving to be a very small brain.

It was at that point that Harry caught my eye. He was staring at me... or, rather, staring at my arm- the one with the cuts. When he noticed me watching him watching me he just gave a look that said "We're going to have to talk".

_Oh shit_ was about the only coherent thought I could come up with... unless you call long strings of obscenities coherent.

I covered up my arm and headed straight down...


	4. Because I Love You

**There's nowhere left to hide,  
In no-one to confide,  
The truth runs deep inside  
And will never die…**

"Ginny -"

"Harry."

"Ginny -"

"Harry."

"_Ginny_, we need to talk."

"Harry. I'm doing my homework. We can talk later."

"No Ginny, we talk _now._"

"No Harry. I'm going to do my homework, and you're going to wait till I'm done. Then I'm going up to bed and staying there, and -"

"_No_ Ginny. We _need_ to talk."

"We need, or _you_ need?"

"Ginny, we're going to talk _now._"

"About what, Harry?" She looked up at him from her essay with innocent eyes. The temptation to hit her was strong, really strong, but easily suppressed. The notion of laying a hand on her when she was awake, kind or not, was pushed firmly to the back of his head and chained to the wall of his skull.

"About your problem."

"What problem?"

"This problem!" He pulled her arm away from her torso where she had been resting against it and roughly jerked it up to meet her eyes. "That problem Ginny!" He shook the wrist he was holding to emphasize his point.

She looked at him with dagger-sharp eyes and whispered "Release me." deadly quiet in the loud chatter of the Common Room.

He dropped her arm. She immediately went back to writing on her parchment; the title scrawled across the top read '_Elfwood and Gingerroot: Properties of Their Combination and Common Uses in Everyday Life._'

He sat down in the chair opposite her and continued to watch her write, occasionally making disapproving sounds in the back of his throat each time she got a fact wrong.

The fifth time he did this, half an hour into watching her work, she slammed her fist down on the table and glared at him.

"Would you stop doing that?" she hissed at him.

He leaned forward and pointed to the sentence she had just written. "They don't make an antiseptic paste; they make the antidote for any antiseptic that hasn't been properly brewed. The Elfwood holds the healing properties, but it burns something terrible when it's healing, so the gingerroot acts to mask the pain because of the numbing agent in its leaves. Snape's going to kill you if you get that wrong."

She glared at him for a moment but nonetheless ground out a curt "Thank you" before correcting her mistake and continuing on.

The rest of the night passed in polite but strained sentences as the young redhead completed every inch of homework set for her. Harry watched on intently as she bent over each parchment, trying as hard as she could to ignore his presence lingering just a few inches in front of her, watching her every move.

_You know, she is quite beautiful._

**I know.**

_And she's the kindest girl you've ever met._

**I know.**

_And she is quite lonely._

**I know.**

_And you love her._

**I know.**

_So, remind me again why you go out with Hermione? _She_ doesn't love you._

He sighed in submission.

**I know.**

Ginny looked up. He smiled warmly and she went back to her work. As she bent her head, he watched as the folds of her hair cascaded down her neck to cover her eyes again, though the frown that was evidence to her concentration and dedication to her work was still visible. The light glimmered and caught on the fine strands of her hair, like jewels.

Harry had begun to doze when Ginny closed her Arithmancy book with a loud, resounding SNAP, making his head jerk up to stare at her through blurry eyes.

She was packing her books and quills away with practiced grace, her hands moving in quick, efficient strokes as she filed away her parchment and books in her bag.

His hand shot out to catch her wrist as she got up to leave. He straightened in his chair and got up rigidly, his back cracking as he uncoiled it.

"We still need to talk."

"Later."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

He sighed. "Ginny, this isn't going to go away."

"I know that," she said flatly

He decided to bring out the big guns. He fixed her with the most innocent, pleading look he could muster under her intense gaze. "Please, Ginny?"

She jerked her arm out of his grasp and went for her dormitory stairs. He ran after her and blocked her path.

"Harry, get. Out. Of. My. Way." She ground out, pushing against him with all the force she could gather.

"Why do you do it?" he asked instead, not removing himself from he path, though it was likely that soon she would hit him.

"Just get out of my way, I want to go to bed," she said rather weakly, placing her hand on his shoulder and pushing against it, while digging her nails into his shoulder blades.

He let out a hiss as he felt her nails tunnel into his skin through his school shirt. He roughly jerked his shoulder away from her and craned his neck around to look at the spot where she had just damaged. There were four small dots of blood where her nails had sunk in and they were getting darker and wider by the second.

He turned around to face her again.

"That wasn't very nice," he chided her gently, though her face remained a cold mask. "Fine then… So, are you going to answer my question?"

"Probably not."

"Ginny, _please_. You're not making this any easier!"

"Not making _what_ any easier?"

"Ginny," he sighed in exasperation. "I'm only trying to help you. And it's kind of hard when you won't cooperate!" She laughed bitterly at him. "Why do you do it?"

She reached out with one of her delicate hands and forcefully pulled his hand from the wall. With one hand she held his arm out straight in front of him and with the other she rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. On his bare skin were his own wounds, red and silver lines of truth.

"Why do _you_ do it Harry?" she asked softly before releasing his arm and running through the gap he had left.

As she disappeared up the stairwell he whispered, "Because I love you."

**A/N:** _This took a bit longer to get up than I expected, and I'm sorry for making anyone wait. School was ending and we were watching all these videos in class and… Well, what can I say? I love movies! But I'm on holidays now so I'm going to do the next five chapters today and upload them with this one! Enjoy!_

**Shadow Silverwolf: **_I'm so sorry that your fifth chapter has taken me so long! I'll snail mail you the edited version hopefully in the next week! If I don't you're going to have to hunt me down and kill me for my indolence!_

**Snake Bites,  
Jinn.**

**xxXXxx**


	5. Ending the Charade

**Lips are turning blue  
A kiss that can't renew  
I only dream of you  
My beautiful…**

Harry woke up feeling like he was buried six feet under. Every bone in his body was aching, his arm and wrists were throbbing from the wounds he had inflicted the night before, after his fight with Ginny.

"Damn! gauze bandages suck!" he muttered angrily, scratching at his wrist where the material chafed his skin under his long sleeve sleeping shirt.

He lay there in his bed, just staring at the ceiling for a while. He was just about ready to fall asleep again when the curtains around his bed were ripped open and someone fell unceremoniously onto his legs, pushed by another someone who was jerking the curtains closed again.

He yelled out in pain as someone's elbows connected with his knees.

"Sorry mate." Ron muttered from on top of him, sitting up and glaring at the other person. "Hermione, what in the hell is wrong?" he demanded.

Harry blinked the bleariness out of his eyes to stare up at his girlfriend, who was pacing around the tiny space. She was chewing nervously on her lower lip and kept muttering something like "I can't believe it."

"Hermione," he yawned sleepily, but she cut him off with a short wave of her hand.

"Did anyone else know about Ginny's problem?"

"What problem?" Ron asked, looking perplexed.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed!" she yelled in astonishment.

Harry sent her a warning look, hoping silently that it was discreet and overlooked by Ron. It was until…

"What?" she yelled at him.

He coughed uncomfortably and asked "Hermione, can I talk to you alone?"

"What!?" Ron yelled.

"Just… Ron, can I please talk to my girlfriend alone for a second?" They both stared at him. "Go!" he yelled and pointed to his curtains. When Ron didn't move he just fixed him with an icy glare and curled his lip at him. The other boy immediately got off the end of his bed and parted the curtains, casting one last disdainful glance back at his best friend.

When the hangings fell shut again, Harry quickly picked up his wand and cast a silencing charm over his bed.

He motioned for his girlfriend to sit on the bed next to him. She sat wearily, never taking her eyes off his face, currently occupying a stern expression one usually reserves for reprimanding misbehaving children. She fidgeted under his intense gaze for a bit before finally breaking the silence.

"What's wrong Harry?"

"I want you to say nothing to Ron about Ginny's 'problem'. She'll deal with it on her own."

"You already knew!? Why didn't you tell one of us?!"

"The same reason you don't tell me what you and Ron are doing." She looked at him with wide eyes. "It's something you silently promise to tell no one, even if it's wrong."

"Harry, I - "

He held up his hand to stop her. "No more lies. We end this here and now. But, I want you to promise me something." She nodded dumbly. "If I let you go to Ron, you have to promise not to say _anything_ to him about Ginny's problem until she stops."

"How do we know when she stops?"

"I'll tell you. I know what she's going through and I know what she's feeling."

"How?"

He hesitated a moment before rolling his sleeves up to is elbows and holding out his arms. Both limbs were decorated from elbow to wrist in a winding red and silver pattern of old and new. Hermione gasped when she saw them and reached out a hand to touch them but he quickly pulled away from her.

Her hand dropped and her face fell as she realized what his gesture meant.

"Harry, I'm sorry."

"Get out." He rolled over onto his side so that his back was facing her. He made no movement until he heard her leave.


	6. Do You Really Need to Know?

**Sing For Absolution  
I will be singing  
Falling from your grace**

Sleepily, I opened my eyes. They felt dry and sore, either from the crying or the lack of sleep, I'm not sure. But last night was a bad one.

After my little confrontation with Harry I could do nothing but cry… And then the punishment for my weakness came. I don't think I handled the situation very well, so the punishment was harder than any I had yet served myself.

The bandage around my wrist itches. I've always hated gauze bandages for that reason, but it was the only thing I could find on such short notice. Usually I would have just wrapped myself up in a spare piece of cloth from an old shirt, but I didn't think last night through properly.

And after I fell asleep, there came the nightmares. I've had all of them before, just not all together, one after the other. I woke up eight times last night. I'll be surprised if I don't fall asleep during all my classes today… I'm just thankful I don't have Snape for anything. I could just imagine what would happen if I _did_ fall asleep during Potions.

I can't help but shudder at the thought.

The sunlight this morning hurts my eyes. Even with the dark stained-glass windows, the light shining through is too bright. There's a sharp pain throbbing at the back of my head. It feels like the morning after I tried to kill myself during the summer…

I roll gracelessly out of bed and hit the floor with a thud.

"Great…" I mutter indignantly.

I get clumsily to my feet and lean against the bedpost for support as vertigo takes over, blurring my vision with a wave of black flecked with all the colors of the rainbow. Great…

When my vision clears I stumble to the bathroom door and open it. There are a few third-years inside and… I groan inwardly.

"Good morning Hermione."

"Morning Ginny. Did you sleep well?"

"No. You?"

"Yeah."

Conversations, even the exchange of pleasantries, with Hermione have become strained, like those with Ron. I don't _really_ talk to Hermione, except for in the mornings and about something with my homework. I don't know why, but I don't hate her as much as I hate my brother. It's probably because she told me in my third year; I had more time to come to terms with what she was saying and how she reasoned it all out… Though how you reason out not loving Harry is beyond me.

"So…" Hermione said, reluctant to start a lengthy conversation in fear of getting lashed out at again. "What was wrong with your sleep? Nightmares, too hot, too cold, insomnia?"

"Nightmares and a bit of insomnia."

"Nightmares? What were they about?" she looked, surprisingly, concerned.

"Just… stuff. Nothing important." (And inside my head my conscience was doing the "You're a Fucking Liar" dance to _Flight of the Vulcaries._)

"You sure? 'Cause, I know that we've kind of drifted apart and all, but you really can come to me if something's bothering you."

"No, 'Mione, it's really nothing important."

She looked at me with a worried expression before nodding and heading for the seventh-year dorms door.

As she disappeared through it I sighed and buried my face in my hands.

When I looked up again, the third-years were all staring at me.

"What!?" I demanded.

They all started and one of them muttered "Nothing," before they all hurried through the door to their respective dorm.

I glared after them.

_What the fuck?_

I sighed and bowed my head.

That was when I noticed I was in a sleeveless shirt. So that was what the third-years were staring at. Fuck. Hermione would have seen it all too. Fuck.

I was cursing my stupidity. The thirds this year were well known for their ability to spread gossip and rumors like the plague, so that officially meant that I was screwed into the ground.

Fuck.

"- _and_ _I'm not myself anymore. Everyone looks at me strange and I can feel myself burning with embarrassment. That's when I realize that I'm on fire, so the burning could have been either of the two causes._

"_There's a man standing over me with a maniacal glint in his eye and his face is dominated by a feral grin as he watches me burn. He keeps telling me that I'm doing well and that it'll all be over soon. His voice is a rasping hiss and I choke on the sound, though he doesn't care._

"_He stares at me like I'm not screaming. Like I'm not trying to break all the chains he has wrapped around me by using physical force alone. He never takes his eyes off me as he carves away my flesh with his hands, as he cuts off all my hair and throws it to the ground, as he runs his fingers over my bones, still scattered with some remaining pieces of flesh._

"_I try to twist away from him, but he hits me until I stop struggling. He burns his mark right onto my bone and covers me over again with the blanket he hides me under. I can hear voices around me and he talks with them for a while before he pulls the sheet off me again with a flourish, displaying me like a prize to all the cold steel faces."_

I sit back down again. Trelawney, the stupid old bat, has finally decided she's had enough of my twenty page dream diary entries. She made me read out the latest nightmare to the class. They're all staring at me now as I sit in the back of the tower room. The professor is standing above me looking at the wall blankly, and down here below her all I can do is drum my fingers impatiently on the desktop, waiting for her to speak.

But she doesn't. She makes no sound and doesn't move. Actually, as I look around the classroom, no one is moving, no one is even batting an eyelid. Scary.

Outside, the bell goes to signal the end of the lesson. The sound snaps everyone back into motion and they all start to sluggishly collect their books. Trelawney saunters away, glassy eyed and silent.

I'm the first down the ladder and out of the tower. The hallways are crowded and busy with other students moving about. The corridors echo with their laughter and yelling, but their happiness falls on deaf ears. I have a free period to blow off, so I head towards the west wing of the castle, determined to get some quality time in with my arm and a blade of any kind.

As I make my way to the fifth floor corridor I'm jeered at and stared at and as I pass, people cover their mouths with their books or hands and mutter to their friends. I know it's about me, about my arms and my wrists. But I don't care. I just keep walking. My addictions and problems are none of their business.

What really gets me is Pansy and Hermione, the two least likely people, come up to me halfway down a crowded corridor _together_. Pansy hugs me and tells me she knows what it's like and if I ever need to talk, all I have to do is find her. Hermione pats my shoulder and says that she's "there for me". That's interesting.

Then I hurry to the corridor of unused classrooms, fearful of any more meetings like that. It's only a short one hallway, the rooms are usually used for groups and associations during the permitted night hours. I've made use of them many times before; I've even claimed one as "my" room.

I walk quietly to the end of the hallway and turn to the door on my left, pushing it open silently.

I'm not prepared for the sight I see.


	7. Bleeding Your Name From My Heart

**Sing for absolution  
I will be singing  
Falling from your grace**

His head snapped up sharply as he heard his name whispered softly from the doorway. The dagger dropped from his hand with a rattle of silver meeting stone as he saw who had found him in the act of his self-destructive self-bonding.

She stood there, one arm wrapped tightly around her books and the other outstretched with her hand still on the doorknob. Her robes hung loosely from her shoulders, her auburn hair swinging down her back as she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of him sitting on the window sill, bent over his arm, carving her name into his flesh.

He hurried to cover over the wounds by pulling down his sleeve and pressing his hand over the quickly forming bloodstain on the white cotton. He hissed softly at the searing pain that shot through him at the pressure over the gash, but he did not relieve himself of the sting.

The last thing he wanted was to be found by Ginny in this type of act.

Cautiously, she walked into the room, the door swinging shut behind her and closing with the snick of the lock. She walked over to the table with all his books on it and placed her bag next to his belongings.

She turned to look at him with a critical eye for a second before walking over to him and picking up the dagger.

"Show me what you've done," she commanded.

"I'd rather not," he muttered.

"I don't care. Show me." When he didn't uncover himself she reached out and pulled his arm roughly out of his grasp and pulled back the sleeve.

Her eyes widened as she saw what he had been doing to himself, her name reflected in her eyes as it bled from his flesh.

"Harry…" she whispered, running her fingers lightly over the wound. Here eyes were welling up with tears and her bottom lip was quivering.

"I'm sorry Ginny."

Shakily, she sat down on the floor beside him, her fingers tracing the cuts down his arm to linger on his bandaged wrist. She gasped softly as she felt the material under her fingertips and looked up into his face. He couldn't bear to look at her shining brown eyes, so he let his gaze wander out the window.

Her fingers intertwined with his and he looked down. She was still looking at him with sad eyes, though a small smile graced her face. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the mouth, reveling at the feel of her soft lips against his.

When he pulled away she was still smiling, though her eyes were now lit up by the hungry fire of a love she had hidden away for far too long.


	8. Dying Words

**Our wrongs remain unrectified  
And our souls wont be exhumed…**

"I love you Harry." I murmur softly. He just smiles down at me, like the angel that he is, and kisses me again.

This feels so right. How could I have waited so long to tell him?

He gets down off his perch from above my head and sits next to me on the harsh, unforgiving stone floor. He wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my cheek.

I curl up in his arms and rest my head against his chest. I can hear his heart beating, a drum pounding the rhythm to a slow dance.

My eyelids grow heavy and I start to fall asleep, and for once, I'm not afraid of what's waiting for me in my dreams.

I wake up in a pair of strong arms, breathing in sync to someone else's slow and heavy breathing. My eyes crack open just a slither and I can make out the outline of someone's face above my own. And behind them the window is dark outside, the moon rising just visible under the bottom of the sill.

I lift my head and remember who's protecting me.

I nudge him awake, and as he stirs to life again I remember why I came here. And it doesn't feel like it was all I had left and it doesn't feel like the only choice I had. But it still feels right.

"What time is it?" Harry asks.

I check my watch. "Nine-thirty."

"Really?"

"Yeah… Either that or my watch has stopped. I can't really tell."

He silent for a few moments before "Ginny? Why'd you come here?"

I turn to stone. I don't want to tell him that I came here to kill myself. But I don't think I'd be able to lie to him. "To end it all I guess…"

He nods. "Same."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

We're silent again.

Then a thought strikes me, not a pleasant one, but a thought all the same.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want to?"

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"Ginny?"

"Yeah?"

"You want to do it together?"

I look up at him and lose myself for a moment in his eyes, drown myself in them.

I nod and pick up the dagger he had been using. I clean it off and place it to my forearm. Slowly, I cut his name deep into my arm, like he did mine. I don't care about the pain, I just do it, and when I'm done, I'm smiling.

"Harry?" He looks up from my arm. "Just so you know, I got an offer from Voldemort." He nods. "But I never took it."

"I know." He says softly. "And just so _you_ know, I used to sit beside your bed at night and watch you sleep."

I smile softly. "I know. I used to do it too."

He kisses me, a deep kiss that will last until the end of eternity, and sitting there beside him, while our lips are joined, I run the blade deep along my wrists, spilling life from my body.

He takes the blade from me and does the same, our blood joining together to join as one, the blood of a child we'll never have, the love of a couple we'll never be… until death.

And sitting there beside him, dying, I whisper "I love you Harry… I love you…

"Harry…"

**FIN**


End file.
